Q & A: Haunted Beds and HOW DO I CONTROL THIS ‘GIFT’?

Q: Let me start with: I’m not crazy.

I often feel other’s moods, and places or things that have a past. People call me when weird or bad stuff is happening in their life. And I guess that requires an explanation. My neighbor had a sister living with her and thought there might be a spirit or something in the house because her sister wasn’t sleeping well.

I don’t see spirits, but I told her I’d see if I could help ‘feel’ a presence and pray with her. I went next door, into the room she thought the spirit was. Truthfully, I felt like I was suffocating the closer I got to the room. It felt very heavy, like a struggling to breathe, and it got worse as I approached the bed.

I told my neighbor that something wasn’t right with the bed. She explained a child had died in the bed before, under suspicious circumstances. And I later learned the child had suffocated.

I’m writing you because I need advice on how to turn off the feelings/energy or whatever it is called. I work in the medical field and spend a lot of time in hospitals. If I can’t control it can you at least tell me how to manage it so I don’t get overwhelmed by people’s feelings/emotions/illnesses?

I tried meditation, but it seems to make it worse. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. All I know is that I have to be able to deal without it wearing me down. Even being in a room full of people is exhausting. I would appreciate any advice. Again, I am completely sane and I know how crazy this sounds.

Sarah

A:

Hi Sarah!

All this all sounds completely normal to me.

Spirit often tells us how they died by sharing a physical feeling. Chest pain if they died by heart attack, shortness of breath to indicate suffocation (like you experienced), etc.  But in your neighbor’s case, I think it was the bed you felt.

Is the bed haunted?

No.

Allow me to share a similar story.

I recently spent the night with a friend –and for no reason– woke in the wee hours feeling very anxious.

I went to bed happy. But now my heart pounded. My thoughts raced. I felt fidgety. Most inexplicably, my fingers wanted to shred paper to relieve anxiety.

Eventually the feeling passed and I fell asleep, but not without confusion. I’d slept there many times without incident.

“My sister stayed over before you,” my friend admitted the next morning.

Same room, same bed. And yes, her sister suffered moderate to severe anxiety. And not just that —- she wadded tissues.

“I cleaned up before you came. But seriously, Jenn. There were shredded tissues everywhere.”

She also had a confession.

She didn’t wash the sheets.

Interesting, right?

So this isn’t about a ghost. It’s about energy.

The tingling well-being that spreads among people gathered in prayer.

The heaviness people feel in cluttered antique stores.

Or the tension that lingers after a fighting couple has left the room.

Objects carry residual energy, too. It’s science. Stand next to a campfire, you’ll feel heat. Technically, that’s thermal energy carried through electromagnetic waves, but whatever. Your hot skin proves the energy exists.

Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It just changes form, right?

So whatever trauma happened on that mattress is still radiating in some form. In simplest terms, the sister felt it in one way, and you felt it in another.

Can objects be ‘haunted’?

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Yes.

(But that’s another blog entry.)

Onto your second question.

How to control.

Clearly you’re gifted, Sarah. And wise to seek a handle on this.

Hospitals are overwhelming even if you’re not psychic!

I won’t tell you what to do, because everyone is different. I can only tell you what I do.

You mentioned being a praying person.

I am, too. So that’s where I always start.

I pray for help any time I need it, and often out loud.

Prayer and meditation open us spiritually, so you just gotta be super clear about who you’re letting in.

Remember that scene in Ghost when all those spirits lined up to talk to Oda Mae?

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The Spirit world is sentient. They hear and listen. 

So you literally have to ask for exactly what you want/need.

I have a widely-respected, professional medium friend who repeatedly asks Spirit and her angels to PLEASE not (visually) present in front of her because it would freak her out and then she couldn’t effectively do her work. And you know what? They don’t.

So before going to work, your prayer might be:

Dear God, thank you so much for entrusting me with this gift. But it really does overwhelm me sometimes. Please help me discern your will. And protect me from unwanted spiritual attention/distraction so I can do my best today. 

— and all beings not here for my greater good please go away.

(or something like that).

Amen.

You’ll be absolutely amazed how effective this is, saying it out loud.

Go ahead.

Try it.

And remember to mean it.

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I’ll wait.

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Oftentimes you’ll feel an actual LIFT in the space, like a big air vacuum sucking out the funk. That’s not your imagination. That’s you taking control of your personal space.

Which leads me to your next point:

Feeling overwhelmed in a room full of people.

Girl.

Don’t I know it.

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Like a slo-mo chokehold, right?

I especially feel it in malls, clubs, and casinos — or any situation where people fill emotional voids by artificial means.

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So (so!)  many people suffer this and don’t even know why. But it has to do with that energy we talked about earlier.

Still.

It is my unwavering belief that we have this ability to help others.

I suspect Healthcare called you for your innate ability to comfort and connect. It’s where you’ll shine the most.

So ask for help each day and let Spirit do their thing.

Then allow yourself to be a vessel through which divine guidance can flow.

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And shine on, girl.

HealthCARE needs you.

 

love,  Jennifer

 

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If YOU reading have a paranormal or metaphysical question, please send it to jennifer@jkabay.com. I’ll archive and answer as appropriate, when I can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Everywhereness.

The loudest I ever heard God was on a train.

Alone in the open doorway of an empty railcar with my feet on the platform, waiting for the last train home.

From a distance I must’ve looked sad.

A thin girl with bright orange hair.

Staring.

Shivering.

Smoking.

My longtime ex-boyfriend and even-longertime ex-best-friend were five thousand miles away, but also right in front of me. Their ghosts had followed me to London, and wouldn’t leave me alone. Haunting. Mocking. Sneering. Glad I was gone.

I lit another cigarette.

It had all happened months before. The painful, drawn-out breakups. First with him, then with her.

Losing one was incapacitating.

Losing both was catastrophic.

I was a fucking wreck.

Crying in secret. Or sometimes in public when the wind blew a certain way or the wrong song came on. Their memories sliced through me with blunt scissors. And I was a dutiful masochist.

Rewinding and replaying my part in the tragedy over and over and over and over again. Smoking and drinking until every nasty thing they said about me was true.

(Not looking for sympathy, here. Everyone’s had a trampled heart. I’m just trying to set a scene.)

Bottom line? My well-being was drop-kicked and shattered. Splayed on the concrete at Liverpool Street Station, reflecting my very worst.

So that’s where my mind was that night. Grieving. Loving them. Missing them. Hating them. Cold fingers holding a cigarette, watching the clock, waiting for Christopher who ran off to get us a tea, my brain voice whispering things like:

You deserve being sad.

They were right about you.

And the same thing will happen with Christopher.

Because you–

And that’s when it happened.

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.

.

So how do I describe this.

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.

You know when you use a walkie-talkie,

and you push the little button to talk

and your voice blocks out all other noise,

and you can’t hear anything until you let the button go?

—It was like that.

.

.

My inner voice got muted like someone pushed a button.

STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

something screamed.

But not a mean scream.

More like . . . interruption.

And it was LOUD.

So loud I jolted.

Then a

soft

quiet

calm

male

voice

continued gently.

Completely overriding my thoughts.

Dear Jennifer, please stop.

I looked up.

You must stop. You made some bad decisions for a short time, and that really is all.

I looked around.

Where–

Everyone messes up. Everyone. It’s all about lessons. For everyone.  Are you listening?

I nodded. By myself on that train car in the freezing cold I nodded.

You are loved more than you know. You have learned. And it will get better. It already is. Now no more.

I looked around like a maniac.

The voice was IN my head, gentle but firm, and so very obviously not my own.

And here came Christopher, smiling, holding two cups of steaming tea.

“What’s wrong, darling, you been crying?”

I nodded.

“Something just happened,” I managed.

“Tell me.” He swiped my cheek with a finger.

I accepted the tea, stubbed out my cigarette then told him.

Clearly, two counts of Divine Intervention.

(The second miracle is that Christopher stuck around.)

My healing began that night. And I remember it with profound gratitude.

Not for God’s existence. But for his Everywhereness.

I wasn’t in church and certainly wasn’t treating my body like a temple. But He was right there, privy to my pain. Loving me while I was quite incapable of loving myself.

(Note: I use the He pronoun for simplicity; that’s not really how I define things.)

So what’s the deal. Why am I sharing this.

Well.

     1. Because this is what I write about: The Other Side.

 And 2. Because last year my brain got noisy again.

Not in my personal world. But in the world around me.

And I’m about to switch gears, because how do I recap 2016 in a tidy blog?

The deaths were . . .

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— hard.

And not just the famous ones. I lost my beloved grandmother, too. And then election season. Sweet Jesus, election season. The only thing rougher than election season was being an EMPATH during election season.

Fear.

Anger.

Misogyny.

Derision.

Don’t remind you, right?

People’s inner psychos came out.

Somehow, someway, the word pussy wriggled its way into a presidential debate.

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People shouted but didn’t listen.

I discovered some of my ‘friends’ maybe don’t like black people

certainly don’t like Muslim people

and definitely not gay people.

And wait . . .  had they always felt this way? 

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I found myself on the defense for being white.

I scrolled past pictures of dusty, bombed Syrian babies and watched Mein Kampf grow a waiting list at the library.  A waiting list!

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Remind me what planet we’re on?

And just when we were in the home stretch . . .

George Michael up and died.

On Christmas.

S e r i o u s l y.

I said it on Facebook and I’ll say it again.

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What the message is, I dunno. But it made me want to scoot my chair closer to God and listen to Careless Whisper on repeat. And also start writing a blog series about His everywhereness –something I’ve considered a very long time. 

Because I never found him in a building.

(Okay, there was that one time.)

Mostly I found Him hanging out where I was.

In the cracks.

On trains.

In lyrics.

Through coincidence  divine orchestration and intuitive nudges that wouldn’t go away.

But especially through people I met at just the right time.

Like my friend Emily, who writes about this stuff, too. Emily is the only other person I know (my age) who owns a kaftan. She also agreed to join me on my little God Tour.

And just yesterday when I thought maybe I shouldn’t write this — because hey– it’s personal, a complete stranger approached me and said “I just gotta tell someone.”

He was tall. Black. Homeless. A gentle weathered face like John Coffey in The Green Mile. And he smiled at me real big.

“I was so cold yesterday and feeling real low cos I didn’t have anywhere to go.” He closed his fists for emphasis. “I asked God to please help me. He guided me to a motel to get warm and stretch my legs and you know what? The lady there -I told her not to-but she ordered me a pizza.”

He started to tear up.

And so did I.

I recognize a message when it’s standing right in front of me.

“And this morning something told me to check my account,” he continued. “It was weird, you know? Because I haven’t had money for so long, but I did. I checked my account. And you know what? There was money in there. I couldn’t believe it. My old employer finally deposited some funds we been fighting over and now I can breathe. I can eat and get warm and I’m so grateful. God listens, He really does. Even though I’m homeless. I’m sorry, ma’am. Here I am, a grownup man crying. But I just had to tell somebody.”

So just in case

I had ANY doubt

 I should move forward with this . . .

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Thanks for reading.

If you’d like to follow this blog, you can sign up for notifications.

See you in the cracks.

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Love, 

Jennifer

A Case for Reincarnation.

Time?

1991.

I’m 13. Maybe 14. Driving across country with the fam. Sprawled on the backseat of our Dodge Caravan with my yellow Sony Walkman, listening to Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits, staring at the dome light. Wishing I was tan. Pretty. Better at math. Hoping Virginia doesn’t suck.

Really, this was the extent of my concerns.

But something was about to happen. Something 25 years later, I still can’t explain.

Don’t Ask Me Why came on.

Suddenly 

I’m in a bright, upstairs room. The one with two large windows opposite the door. White wallpaper repeats a delicate pattern along clean walls and sunlight spills across the floor. I stare at the wooden rocking horse. It’s new. Barely used. And I feel sad. Simultaneously I sense a tall woman and the rapid passage of time.

What the —

I ripped out my ear phones.

My parents discussed travel routes. Pit stops. How long til Atlanta.

I sat up. Eyes wide. Whizzing past cars and trees.

We didn’t say WTF back then, but it certainly would’ve applied.

I wasn’t sleeping.

Nor daydreaming.

So what. Was that.

And why did I feel so very, very . . . melancholy. 

Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I was creating a really effective video to the song.

 . . . but.

I’m still halfway there? In the tall-ceilinged room. The rocking horse. Is it mine? The lady. I don’t see her. But I know she’s tall and well-dressed. Mostly, WHY DOES THIS FEEL SO FAMILIAR?

I closed my eyes, trying to see more.

I’m not observing this room. I remember. It’s on the second floor of a grand house. The window panes are thick with rippled glass. Large, potted ferns decorate the periphery as well as —for some reason I know this— a landing on the carpeted stairs.

I don’t come up here often.

The song finished. And so did my vision —if that’s what it was.

I sat there stunned.

This wasn’t a daydream like closing my eyes, wanting to be somewhere else and imagining a beach, or whatever. And it wasn’t some astral projection where I transported behind closed eyes —not that I could’ve achieved that or, even knew what ‘astral projection’ was back then.

No.

This was revisiting someplace I knew. But forgot.

And trying to recapture that feeling now?  In this blog? Under scrutiny?

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Please, allow me an analogy.

Imagine a great-grandmother, ravaged with dementia at the end of her long, full, vibrant life. The culmination of 98 years —childhood, parents, summer, tantrums, teddy bears, church, Christmas, school, fall, Roosevelt, university, snow, births, career, winter, marriage, pregnancies, spring, world war, telegrams, tears, laughs, friends, Easter, children, Eisenhower, deaths, Korea, Elvis, retirement, Beatles, Vietnam, grandchildren, Reagan, Disney, Thanksgiving, retirement, Grand Canyon, diagnosis, and a cancer that swallowed her husband whole —forgotten.

And now she’s dying.

Surrounded by weeping strangers. Calling her Mother. Desperate, one of them hands her a blanket. Within it, her firstborn’s smell somehow perfectly preserved. Confused, she pulls it to her face.

A century splashes over her.

Her babies. The popcorn they strung for Christmas. Her husband. The way he shaved left-handed and smiled sideways. The Key-Lime recipe she saved for her eldest daughter. The backdoor handle you lifted up instead of down. Her granddaughter’s deep dimples and chocolate smile. The P.G. Wodehouse novel she needed to finish and the iron —did she turn it off?

Everything.

But she switches off again.

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.

.

.

This isn’t about an old woman. Or dementia.

Not at all.

I’m asking YOU READING to consider the intimate impact of memory. The soft feelings of life and traumatic confusion in their sudden removal.

That moment right there.

That’s what I felt that day.

Confused?

Me, too.

I was in 9th grade. Did I experience weirdness from time to time? Sure. But the majority of my psychic run-ins were still years away.  I had zero foundation for this experience.

Maybe the song prompted it?

I stopped and rewound. Pushed play. Over and over. From Texas to Virginia. Trying to hold onto —and make sense of— that room.

The song starts again. A strummy little number about— well, I’m not sure what it’s about. But really, it’s irrelevant. My experience had nothing to do with the song. No cosmic connection between me and Billy Joel. Boo.

Still.

That upstairs room (and feelings therein) are raw and accessible, even now.

So what was it?

A past life?

Slip in the Matrix?

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If so, what’s the significance? Why show me that little bit and nothing more?

These days, I describe metaphysical phenomona with clarity and opinion.

But not this.

I feel naked and splayed writing this because I never told anyone can’t explain it.  Still, I protect its integrity by not adding or assuming details. I’ve shared what I know.

And I know that room existed, once upon a time.

A room with dimension and warmth from large windows spreading sun on the dark wooden floor, polished beneath my feet.

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I don’t know the people in this photo, nor its date.

This isn’t the room.

But it captures my feelings.

Please feel free to share yours.

If anything like this has ever happened to you, I’d love to hear about it.

Love,

Jennifer

Q & A: Alzheimers and ‘Lost’ Souls.

Q: Hi Jennifer. How can someone, like that ghost you encountered from the 1700’s, still be HERE? Why don’t they find peace? Why are they stuck? —Christina, Houston

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.

(She’s referring to THIS experience if you haven’t yet read it.)

My encounter suggests poor Jose’s been stuck in some rocky, Mexican purgatory 300+ years. But that also supposes a linear timeline. (You can read more about the space/time problem here. )

Please remember Heather had a ghosty run-in that night, too.

So.

What if the land was responsible for our mutual paranormal experience, and not a ghost?

(bear with me.)

Supposedly, we have several spiritual “hot spots” here on Earth:

Sedona, Arizona

Machu Picchu, Peru

Ayer’s Rock, Australia

Mount Sinai, Egypt

Glastonbury, England

. . . to name a few.

I’ve not been to any of these places. And I’m not a fan of the word “vortex.” ( like, at all.) Makes me think of nutball New Agers and Bermuda Triangle enthusiasts. Still, their theories are somewhat provable by ley lines, plate tectonics, and magnetic fields (all real).

So maybe those locations– as well as the little pueblo we visited in Mexico– have some geomagnetic or spatial components that make the proverbial veil thinner there?

I don’t know enough to take a stance.

But I DO know many describe Sedona’s atmosphere the way I described Tepotzotlán’s: charged.  I also know when I’m about to experience some serious ghost action the air around me crackles like polyester from a hot dryer.

Maybe I need to go to Sedona?

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Q: Dear Jennifer, I read that when a person has Alzheimers and they pass, they are in such a confused state of mind that they don’t completely cross over. Do the deceased know how to cross over even though their minds are altered? Thank you for any answers you can help me with. — Vicki, Texas 

Hey, Vicki.

I’m no brain expert. But really, who is. Even top neurologists admit limited understanding. What’s it, 10% comprehension or something silly like that?

I personally feel those suffering with Alzheimers already have one foot on the Other Side.

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I witnessed it with my grandfather, his beloved essence evaporating one painful month at a time.

He stared past me like a stranger while I searched his once vibrant blue eyes.

Remember me, Paw Paw? It’s Jennifer. You used to carry me on your shoulders? Remember how we played in the pool? You drove me back and forth to cheerleader practice and brought dinner to  play rehearsals? You drove us to Disney World, treated the world to dinner. You were our living Santa Claus, Paw Paw. Remember your great-granddaughter, Sophia? Isn’t she lovely? Paw Paw, are you in there?

One time, near the end, the fog cleared.

He looked at Sophia, then me.

“Well!” he smiled, some twinkle restoring in his Carolina Blue eyes. “She’s wonderful!”  He looked at me with that wonder reserved for the elderly, curious where time went, his expression saying look how big she’s gotten!

Paw Paw opened his bear arms wide and she fell in.

But his eyes died before the hug finished.

I bit my lip so I didn’t cry.

At least he saw her. Really saw her. That one last time.

Did his brain allow him through those precious seconds?

Or did God.

And was that a gift for me?

Or for him.

I’m no doctor.

But I know in the physical body, the brain rules supreme. What happens after death is spiritual— therefore God’s–domain.

Human rules and vulnerabilities do not apply.

No wayno how are dementia patients bumping into each other in heaven, asking for directions. No. They are whole.

They’re home.

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I love and miss you, Paw Paw. I hope your heaven is custom fitted with a recliner and football game, turned up extra loud. 

Thanks for your question, Vicki. Hope this helps.

If YOU reading have a paranormal or metaphysical question, please send it to jennifer@jkabay.com. I’ll archive and answer as appropriate, when I can.

Love,

Jennifer

******

P.S. Has anyone been to one of those vortexy places listed up there and felt something unusual? Let me know!

 

 

Q & A: Long Island Medium and the VOID.

Q: Hi Jennifer, I’ve watched the show, “Long Island Medium” and believe that woman, Theresa, is the real deal. I’ve heard her often say, “so and so wants you to know they’re at peace with our father in heaven.” My question is: HOW can a soul be at peace and still be with us on Earth? After a person dies who has God in his or her heart, HOW do they move from the spirit realm to our physical one? —Christina, Houston

Interesting you use the phrase “real deal.” A friend of mine received an unsolicited reading from Theresa and actually ended up on that show. And that’s the exact phrase she used. Real deal.

“So and so wants you to know they’re at peace with our father in heaven” is a comfort phrase for the living. She wouldn’t say that to someone who believed differently, because not everyone defines the afterlife that way.

(And that’s okay.)

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As for moving between realms –well– that’s a deeper question.

If I start talking ‘dimensions’ and quantum theory this’ll read science like fiction.

But this I know for sure.

Human rules for space and time DO NOT APPLY to the Other Side. So:

1. Take all your assumptions.
2. Crumple them into ball.
3. (Cue En Vogue.)
4. No, you’re never gonna get it.
5. Never ever gonna get it.

Why?

Because our brains are hardwired for linear timelines and compartmental definitions of space.

1 to 10.
A to Z.
Left to right.
Once upon a time, the end.

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Pragmatists will NEVER be comfortable with these conversations.

But here’s the deal.

I’ve personally experienced the VOID. That wordless place between space and time.  I KNOW it exists. Though exist might not be the word.

Few years ago, we were watching tv when the living room –and all daytime noises– evaporated.

Like someone flipped a switch.

Radiant peace undulated in my periphery, filling the space like warm liquid. The room was an illusion.

I saw my beloved grandfather across the room, next to my little girl. Not as an opaque person; but a shimmery outline, his flat cap confirming his presence.

Grandpa?

I couldn’t talk.
Didn’t have to.

My Grandpa died. But he was right there. And this was COMPLETELY unlike any visit I’d had before.

Was this a place?
. . .  or the absence of one?

Had I slipped into the Divine? Who made this happen?! And why wasn’t he sitting next to me?

We lack vocabulary for these things.

I recall that part in Eat, Pray, Love where Elizabeth Gilbert experienced it, too:

“Simply put, I got pulled through the wormhole of the Absolute, and in that rush I suddenly understood the workings of the universe completely. I left my body, I left the room, I left the planet, I stepped through time and I entered the void. I was inside the void and I was looking at the void, all at the same time. The void was a place of limitless peace and wisdom, the void was conscious and intelligent. The void was God. But not in a gross, physical way–not like I was Liz Gilbert stuck inside a chunk of God’s thigh muscle. I was just part of God.”

I remember reading that bit, and feeling like YA! You go witcha bad author self, Liz! THAT!

People of different faiths who’ve had near death experiences describe the variations of the same.

Who’s to say Spirit can’t come and go as they please? Or that God doesn’t encourage them to pop in and give us love nudges every once in awhile?

My advice?  Try not to overthink the HOWs.

We probably couldn’t grasp the answer anyway.

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Thanks for these questions, Christina. I’ll answer the rest of them in the next week or so.

If YOU reading have a paranormal or metaphysical question, please send it to jennifer@jkabay.com. I’ll archive and answer as appropriate, when I can.

Thank you!
Love,
Jennifer

Jenniforecast: May 2016

ARIES ( March 21-April 19)

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Your well-being is outta whack because of a surplus of male energy, Aries! Solution? Allow some strong (positive) women to take charge and influence your schedule.  And get ready for a new hobby! You’ll develop passion for a brand new activity/ pastime this month, and know it’s right when just thinking about it gives you bursts of energy. Stay with it!

P.S. You’ve done all you can. Now let them fly.

Advice: Are mountains/big open spaces drawing you right now? Take advantage of last minute travel deals/invitations. They needn’t be expensive.

TAURUS (April 20-May 20)

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Ch-ch-changes. That’s your theme right now. Your public AND self-image are in transition which draws new people in your life. And it’s all good. Because (let’s face it) you’ve been bored and totally impatient with routine, pettiness, and people not willing to bend. May’s about correcting situations that got funky last month, Taurus, so stay the course no matter how twisty, ok?

Advice: Pay attention to the issues in your lower body. It’s not your imagination.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20)

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People are trying to rush your decisions, Gemini. Don’t let them. It’ll only make you (more) high strung. Then you’ll lash out and you know what kinda mess happens after that. Your concentration is scattered this month so it’s wise to leave big projects until June. Also, watch your mouth because someone may enjoy twisting your words.

Advice: Read that last sentence again. That same someone’s trying to take advantage of you. I know you hate looking the fool, so best to keep big stuff private, k? At least for now.

CANCER (June 21-July 22)

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It’s high time for new partnerships, Cancer. Align yourself with people who view the world the same funky way you do!  But cast those social anxieties aside. Adjusting to new people won’t be as hard as it was before. Your physical body is sensitive this month so watch for overindulgence, especially when it comes to processed sugar and alcohol. Your workplace will run a lot smoother than your home life this month.

Advice: Your goals are simpler (and more achievable) than you think. Your essential to-do list really has, like, 3 things on it. Not 10.

LEO (July 23-Aug 22)

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Oooh. Feels a little funky in your friend world, Leo. Lots of misunderstandings. The way to avoid driving yourself nuts is sticking to the FACTS of any situation and really try to be forgiving, because everyone can be a turd sometimes. At work, say yes when invited to a workshop/convention/webinar because it’ll be good for your career.

Advice: Don’t neglect loved ones this month. Especially children. A best friend or partner really wants to be your sounding board. Let them.

VIRGO ( Aug 23- Sept 22)

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The same people keep tap dancing on your last damn nerve, don’t they? But choose your words carefully, Virgo. Facebook comments and emotional texts cannot be retracted. Your best medicine is the company of elders and intellectual stimulation. Think museums, art, music, cooking, literature . . . and older folk. These will ground and keep you sane until these fools leave you alone.

Advice: An opportunity will present to defend an underdog. DO IT.

LIBRA (Sept 23- Oct 22)

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Minor irritations will eat you alive if you’re not careful, Libra. Especially at the beginning of May. Breathe deep. People will come round to your way of thinking. You do have one big argument in the cards this month. (Sorry) But it’ll actually be cleansing and restore healthy boundaries. Days of letting people walk all over you really need to be over.

Advice: Save big home projects until next month. And say YES to travel this month. You will totally regret not going.

SCORPIO (Oct 23- Nov 21)

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The good news is: work will be pretty great this month. But socially, May might be pain in your rear. Narrow minds will go out of their way to get a rise out of you –but let’s be honest– you’ve been a little persnickety yourself, lately. You’re likely to feel nostalgic and drawn to vintage things: books, furniture, old family photos. My advice is to tuck inside these emotions until tolerance for certain people improves.

Advice: Brace yourself for NEWS.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov 22- Dec 21)

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Your word for the month is EXPERIMENT! Recipes, meditation, a weird fitness class– basically, anything new. Opportunity will arise from your open mind and frankly, you’ll enjoy being spontaneous for a change. You’re putting out good vibes right now and people will want to align with you. But beware your boundaries–especially at work. You’re a bundle of extremes this month, so be sure to apply that energy to something good!

Advice: It’s time to get your house in order. Donate. Clean. Get rid of crap. Consider this your cosmic kick in the butt. No one likes a hoarder.

CAPRICORN ( Dec 22- Jan 19)

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Intuition sends mixed signals this month, Capricorn. What you WANT vs. what you NEED are tangled in your mind. So every step you take, think: is this essential? And we all know you love to please, but say NO to working overtime. And don’t volunteer for anything, even though you’d (obviously) do it best. At least not this month. Your ears, nose, throat, and respiratory systems feel sensitive right now and overdoing will only them worse.

Advice: Don’t take the colleague personally. Their issues are at home. Not with you.

P.S. Your family misses you.

AQUARIUS ( Jan 20- Feb 18)

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Your nickname this month is Martyr. (Yay!) Sorry and all that. People always expect you to speak truth for the crowd, don’t they? And folks who have courage to speak up are easily criticized. It’ll be okay by month’s end but –really– tell people to fight their own battles. Your soul  just wants to belong and be surrounded by family this month. Especially when past issues arise. But this is what happens when you sweep issues under the rug rather than dealing with them.

Advice: Save strong opinions for when it REALLY matters otherwise you may come across looking the turd.

P.S. You really are great.

PISCES (Feb 19- March 20)

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Your energy field is super porous right now, Pisces. So make triple sure to keep negative, toxic people far, far (far) away. You may find yourself obsessing about cleaning, organizing, and body image this month. Your intuition is strong and your hands are VITAL (as in crucial) for healthy, spiritual connection. Writing. Massage. Building. Crafting. These’ll keep you in the right mental space to get you through May. Warning: now’s NOT the time for property or real estate decisions. It can wait.

Advice: Say NO to guests this month unless you want invasive chaos. They can stay somewhere else.

Q & A: Mexican Ghosts Speak Spanish

Q: Hi Jennifer. My grandma died last year. We miss her a lot! My mom says she sometimes catches flashes of her, which I believe, but why can no one else see her? Sometimes I think I sense her, but I’m really not sure. When you experience a ‘ghost’ how can you tell it’s not your imagination? –Emily; New Braunfels.

Great question.

But let me answer the last part first.

Imagination is when you’re watching a scary movie and too scared to get up and pee. Intuition is when you open the bathroom door and see a man walk through the wall.

If a ghost, angel, or deceased loved one appears, it’s my experience that (most) everyone in the room will experience something. Even if they later try to reason it away.

HOWEVER. Only those with clairvoyant tendencies would (likely) see it.

Imagine this scenario:

A few friends gather at Peter’s house, drinking and chatting  when a sudden presence fills the room. So strong that Peter stops talking and stares at the wall.

Peter: Wait. What was that. Did ya’ll see that?

Susan: See what?

Peter: A man. There by the window.  I swear I saw something?

Edmund: I dunno, but I just got the chills.

Lucy: Right when you said that, I smelled cigarettes. Did someone say ‘Harold?’

Susan:  Ya’ll are crazy. I’m leaving.

Peter: Please don’t. The queso’s almost ready.

Susan: No, I don’t feel right. Something’s up.  Excuse me a sec.

Susan calls home, learns her son sliced his foot and needs stitches ASAP. Peter researches to find the original homeowner, Harold Smith, a heavy smoker, drank himself to death in 1899. No one likes Peter’s house anymore.

The End.

Okay, that’s silly and oversimplified, but you get the point. ‘Clairvoyant’ is one of those loaded words, but it just means ‘clear seeing’ and is by far the easiest extra-sensory perception to glamorize on film. But spirit detection is rarely down to eyes alone.

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Intuition/Psychic ability breaks down to:

  1. Seeing
  2. Feeling
  3. Hearing
  4. Knowing
  5. Smelling/Tasting

Peter saw. Edmund felt. Lucy smelled AND heard. And Susan — our skeptic– demonstrates intuition isn’t a woo-woo phenomenon. I personally think clear knowing is the strongest, most trustworthy of the four. Sometimes you just KNOW. You don’t know how. You just do. And inevitably it’s about something really, really important, right?

Every person alive has at least one of these gifts whether they ignore it or not. Those with a decent command of all four are the world’s ‘psychics’ or ‘intuitives.’ Those who claim they do and tell people lies for money and attention are charlatans.

Know the difference.

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Now I’ll share something that really happened.

Picture it. Estado Morelos 2008.

My mom, our friend Heather, and I traveled to Mexico for a family wedding and shared a room in this hotel overlooking scenic Tepoztlán.

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Pretty, right?

It was also FULL of Spirit. Like, everywhere. In the streets. In the market. In church. The entire city felt charged. Not haunted. Just charged. (Frenchman St. in NOLA’s French Quarter feels similar.)

I felt it. Heather felt it. Mom felt it. But it was in our hotel room we encountered a pushy, dead Mexican.

I woke in the middle of the night because I felt –I dunno– something.

Imagine squeezing a balloon. Not enough to pop it, but enough to think you might. That’s what woke me– something pressing against my subconscience. I opened my eyes and pulled up on my elbows.

The room felt still.

I remember being hot. There was no a/c so they’d given us fans, but really, they just made noise. We’d opened balcony doors to stave off heat, but there was no wind either. Only moonlight, a whirring fan, and the distant chirping of foreign bugs. I kicked off the covers. And that’s when I noticed the bottom of my mattress, sunk down.

Like someone sitting there.

I yanked in my feet. Let me assure you the mattress was hard as a damn rock. It’d take something with mass to make it sink that deep. I stared at the empty (yet occupied) space with a pounding heart.

The air got crackly.

Oh hell no, I thought. LEAVE.

But that guy —I could tell it was a guy— didn’t budge. And he was super happy I acknowledged him. Because then he started talking. FAST.

A quick word about Spirits talking: Rarely do you hear them outside yourself –like you’d hear someone next to you–talking. You hear it inside. But it’s completely different from your brain voice. Does that make sense? It’s almost like a super loud thought, yet you know it’s not coming from you.

The cool brown tiles felt good against my feet. I slipped to the bathroom and shut the door, quickAnd do you know that cabrón followed me to the toilet?!  I wasn’t imagining things either because rapid unfamiliar Spanish zipped through my conscience like ticker tape. I caught a few words.

. . . mil setecientos . . .

“Go away!” I whisper-hissed, too scared to look up in case he manifested in front of me.

. . . José.

“Váyase José!” I waved toilet paper at him.

. . . de cólera, he implored.

“Eres muerto, Jose!” ( Jesus Cristo! How do you say go to the light en Español!?) My mind raced. “Vaya con Dios!” I still wouldn’t look up.

“Who are you talking to?” I heard my mother.

And then he was gone.

I re-entered the room to Mom and Heather, wide awake.

“There’s a damn ghost in there telling me he died of cholera in the 1700s.” I plopped defensively on my now un-sunken mattress.

And then it got interesting.

In full disclosure, I need to let you know Heather is a professional medium and my trusted go-to when I want a reading. She’s also a big ol’ chicken who gets really uncomfy outside the loving presence of angels and deceased loved ones.

Poor girl had been lying there hours. Unable to sleep. Overwhelmed by images of bones, mountains, native people, and snatches of conversation from long ago. And she couldn’t shut it off.

“They obviously don’t sage here,” she sighed, sitting up, fluffing her pillow.

Everyone knows how bad it sucks to lie there exhausted in the wee hours, mind churning like a hamster wheel. Let me tell you it’s 1000 times worse as a psychic. It’s like a movie reel shining bright, constant, moving pictures behind your closed eyes. And you can’t do CRAP about it except wait for it to be over.

Mom later confessed she’d seen a man hovering over Heather in the doorway, but didn’t say anything.

We turned on the lights and waited several hours for breakfast.

( P.S. Local Mexican coffee mops the floor with Folgers.)

That same trip,  Mom and I hiked two, steep, dangerous hours to the top of an ancient pyramid and encountered –I have no choice but to believe– an angel.

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But I’ll save that story for another time.

Next time you say prayers Emily, ask Grandma to let you know she’s there. Maybe you’ll dream about her that night. That’s a form of clairvoyance, too. In the meantime, believe your momma.

Love,
Jennifer

*****

If you have a question regarding paranormal or metaphysical phenomena, please send it to jennifer@jkabay.com. I’ll archive and answer as appropriate, when I can.

Thank you.